


How Do You Know?

by LaurieRoar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Sherlock, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Kinda, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Male Slash, Mostly Pwp, Size Kink, Smut, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurieRoar/pseuds/LaurieRoar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John asks Sherlock how he knows he doesn't like sex if he's never tried it. ... I think we all know where this is going. 18 pages of ridiculously detailed, graphic, long smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Do You Know?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [How do you know?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529750) by [yasang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yasang/pseuds/yasang)



**Remember. Reviews are like crack to me.**

**Note: This may imply that people don’t know their sexuality without experimenting, which we all know is so not true, so I apologize for that. Sherlock could totally be asexual. He’s not in this lovely piece of FanFiction, but he very well could be in Canon.**

 

*** * ***

 

“I don’t like sex.” Sherlock said bluntly.

John paused halfway through reaching for a plate in the sink. He’d managed to convince Sherlock to help him wash the dishes, and somehow they’d reached the topic of Sherlock’s virginity. Why hadn’t he slept with The Woman? What hadn’t he slept with Janine? And this was his answer - simple and blunt.

John grabbed the plate he’d been reaching for and dried it slowly. “Okay.” He said finally. He’d leave it at that. Sherlock was a grown man. An intelligent man. He could believe, think, and do (or not do) whatever he wanted. And it wasn’t any of John’s business.

Nope, he had to ask. John sighed. “It’s just that ... Sherlock, you’re a virgin.”

“Yes.”

“So, how do you know if you don’t like sex?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, annoyed. He was in the midst of scrubbing yesterday’s dried-up take-away off of a plate. “John, that’s absurd.”

“Why?”

Sherlock huffed. “That’s like me asking you how you know you’re straight if you’ve never been with a man.”

John paused. “I suppose.”

They continued in silence. John waited until Sherlock had relaxed a bit before pushing him anymore. “How do you know I haven’t been with a man?”

“Have you?”

“No.”

“And yet you know you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“Yes.” John found himself hesitating as he said this. He’d always assumed he wouldn’t enjoy it. In fact, the idea of taking some guy’s prick up his arse made him feel a bit queasy, and not in a good way. He didn’t find himself sexually attracted to men, and he’d always been perfectly content with women. So that meant he was straight. Right?

Sherlock was staring at him. He was being deduced while he questioned his sexuality. Goddamn it. “Yes, I’m sure I’m straight, Sherlock.”

“Then why can’t I be sure that I wouldn’t like sex?”

“I just ... I don’t know, sexual attraction is different, isn’t it?” He paused. “Do you ever ... want sex?”

Sherlock’s eyes darted at him uncomfortably. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I’m just ...” John sighed. “I guess I just feel like you’re missing out on ... on something amazing. That every person should experience.”

Sherlock paused. “Dull.”

John looked over at him. He was washing the dishes in silence now, long fingers wrapped around a wet washcloth, something John didn’t think he ever would’ve seen. He looked ... inquisitive. Had John actually made Sherlock question himself?

John looked away and continued drying the dishes. Sherlock was silent for a long time, staring into the dirty dish water thoughtfully. When he finished his last dish, he dried off his hands, then turned and sat at the kitchen table with his arms crossed. He glared at John.

“Yes?”

“Thank you, John.” He said sarcastically.

“What?”

“Now I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about it.”

John blinked. “About ... sex?”

“Yes.”

John found himself smirking, possibly a bit maliciously. “So you do want sex then?”

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s not what I said. I said I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about, not that I want it.”

“Then why can’t you stop thinking about?”

Sherlock stood up in a huff. “Because now I’m wondering what it’s like!” He stormed into the living room and collapsed on the couch, arms crossed like a four-year-old. John finished drying the dishes, then put the kettle on. “Tea?”

Sherlock grunted a yes.

John went and sat in his chair while the water was heating. “So ... why don’t you ... you know.”

“What?”

John waited for him to catch on. He didn’t. “Have sex?”

Sherlock glared at him. “With who?”

John sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. Molly?”

“That’d be cruel.”

He paused. “We could go to a club. You’re attractive and know how to be charming, I’m sure we could find someone.”

“Sexually transmitted infections, John.”

“That’s why you wear a condom.”

Sherlock looked away. He suddenly seemed ... uncomfortable. “I don’t want to do that with a stranger.”

John sighed, leaning against the chair. “I’m sure there’s a woman you know that would be willing to sleep with you, Sherlock.” Something like resentment came out in his voice that he hoped Sherlock hadn’t caught onto.

“Why are you so heteronormative? Who says it has to be a woman?”

John shrugged. “Would you rather it be a man?”

“I don’t know.” Sherlock said quickly. His voice was softer now. “I don’t really know any men who would sleep with me either.”

“I’m sure you could find a man - ”

“I don’t want _a_ man, I want - ”

The kettle squealed. John stood up to make the tea, waiting for Sherlock to finish his sentence, but he just trailed off, laying on the couch, mind turned inward. “You want what?” John prompted.

Sherlock didn’t answer. John set a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him. They both sat quietly.

So, Sherlock wanted to lose his virginity. As an experiment, it would seem, as everything he did tended to be for science, or to stop himself from doing drugs. Or killing Mycroft. Or himself. It was actually a wonder he hadn’t lost it earlier. That was something John had found odd since the moment he’d learned of Sherlock’s innocence. Why hadn’t he wanted to experience sex, be it for release, or just to try and understand it? Especially when he saw love as such a powerful motivator. If he understood sex, it might help him when solving a lot of cases.

So why hadn’t he done it yet? The answer was simple. Sherlock was insecure. John knew that. He could tell he had a lot of confidence issues, a lot of self-hate, and an emotional wall that he thought would stop himself from getting hurt, but that really just prevent anyone from getting close to him. Except for John. John had somehow managed to get past that wall, or at least pressed up against it, closer than most people got at least. He was even closer than Mycroft - he’d discovered that when Mycroft had given him the choice of what to tell Sherlock about The Woman. Mycroft had understood that only John could know the answer to that.

Sherlock understood that sex was frighteningly intimate. That seemed the most likely answer. He knew he’d have to open up, let down the wall, let someone see him for the emotional, vulnerable human being he was. A stranger would never be able to do that - Sherlock was too guarded around new people. The only person in Sherlock’s life John could think of who might be able to break down that wall was Mycroft, but that was obviously out of the question. Well, perhaps not even Mycroft.

Just John.

“Oh, fuck.” John said.

“What?” Sherlock asked. He had rolled over onto his side, his arm reaching onto the table to dip his finger in his tea, checking the temperature.

“I’m going to have to do it.”

Sherlock paused. “What?” He said, softer.

“I’m going to have to take your virginity.” He said. “Aren’t I?”

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

John sighed. “It’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it? It doesn’t have to be a woman. You want it to be someone special, I assume, but you cut yourself off before finishing that sentence, probably because the only person that came to your mind when thinking that word was me.”

Sherlock hesitated. A hint of a smile appeared on his face. “Excellent deductions, John.”

John blinked. “I’m right?”

The smile faded. “Didn’t you know that?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know, I’m just ... okay.”

“Okay.”

John nodded. “Okay.”

Sherlock sat up and grabbed his tea. He crossed his legs on the couch and took a sip. “Mmm.” He said. That was his way of thanking John for making it. John smiled appreciatively.

John turned away, then suddenly froze.

What had he just said?

“So ...” Sherlock started.

“What?” John asked, suddenly anxious. He had just ... offered himself to his flatmate. He just told Sherlock Holmes that he would take his virginity. And he was straight. And Sherlock was a virgin. Holy fuck, how was he supposed to do this?

And what if he sucked?

“When?” Sherlock said, matter-of-fact, but John could see the glimmer of something in his eyes. Was he nervous? Excited? God, John hoped that wasn’t dread he saw.

“Erm ... when would you ... like?” John asked. He shook his head at his own words. He should really not encourage this. He’d brought it up quite stupidly without thinking about it. He shouldn’t push it. He should drop it, actually, in hopes that Sherlock would just forget about it and catch on that John didn’t actually want to fuck him into the mattress until he was screaming his name and begging to -

No. Down, boy. “Actually ... maybe ... maybe this is a bad idea.”

Sherlock gripped his tea, eyes darting up at John before returning to watching the steam rising from his cup. Nervousness. “Why not?” He kept his voice smooth, but the lack of sarcasm was rare. That only happened when he was actually feeling something.

“Well ... I am straight.”

“Unproven.” Sherlock tried.

“No - I am.” John said.

“Defensive ...”

“Sherlock, I am straight. You’re right - sometime you just know your sexuality. Maybe you’re asexual. And we’re flatmates. And friends. This isn’t a good idea. This could ... will ... complicate things.”

“How so?”

John sighed. Being a sociopath, he technically couldn’t hold Sherlock responsible for being a complete idiot when it came to human nature, but sometimes he really, really wanted to. “Because we’d have had sex, Sherlock. That’s a big deal.”

“Not really. It’s just sex.”

“Says the virgin.” John shot back. “Can we just ... drop it?”

Sherlock sighed.

Wait, Sherlock sighed? Why did he sigh? Did he want this now too? John turned to him, examining his face. He looked ... damn. John couldn’t tell if he looked disappointed or relieved.

“Okay. If we do this - ”

Sherlock smirked. “Oh, your closeted bisexuality - ”

“ _If_ we do this ... I’m on top.”

Sherlock paused, smirk fading. “I ... don’t know what that means.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d be the one ...” He made an awkward gesture at Sherlock’s body, which Sherlock didn’t catch onto. “Doing ... ugh. You.”

Sherlock nodded. “Alright.”

“You’re - you’re okay with that?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I - never mind. Right.” Okay. So if he did take Sherlock’s virginity, he’d be on top. And Sherlock would be on the bottom. Underneath him. His legs hoisted up against his chest, John’s prick pounding into him as he let out deep grunts of pleasure -

No. Not gay. Not gay, John. Down, boy.

And that was definitely a memory from a past dream he’d had. Then he’d definitely needed to tell himself, “Down, boy.” Because Sherlock had been laying beside him, curled up facing John with hot little exhales hitting his neck. He’d been shivering a bit from the cool air of Baskerville, his head so close to him. And John definitely hadn’t imagined in his half-asleep state, grabbing that head and shoving his prick down his throat. Definitely hadn’t imagined that. Because John was not gay. Definitely not gay. After all, he’d never had thoughts like that before. Never before Sherlock. And never anyone other than Sherlock. And that was probably just because they spent so much time together, and Sherlock spent so much time cock-blocking him that of course he was going to go so crazy from a lack of sexual satisfaction that he’d start imagining screwing his flatmate. That was only logical.

Yes.

“Should we do it now?” Sherlock asked, looking at John with a blank expression. He seemed to have gotten a tighter grip on his emotions, a perfect, apathetic, purely scientific mask glued onto his face.

John paused, holding his cup of tea. He hadn’t wanked in a few days. That was probably why a jolt of excitement had just rushed straight to his crotch. He took in a breath. “Erm ... I suppose. We could. We could do it now.” Apparently his mouth was ignoring his brain. He set his tea down. Sherlock set his down, too, then waited.

John watched him for a second. “Should we ... go to your bedroom?” He asked. Sherlock would probably feel most comfortable in his own bedroom, though John had the supplies he’d need in his own.

Sherlock nodded. “Alright.”

“Okay.” John nodded. “I’ll meet you there? I just have to grab something from my room.”

“Okay.” Sherlock said. He stood up. They looked at each other awkwardly. He was so tall. John wasn’t used to being with taller people. Well, not _that_ much taller. He pushed the thought out of his mind. No. If he was going to do this, it was going to be for Sherlock. That’s it - Sherlock wanted to experience this and he didn’t trust anyone to do it but John. So John would be there for him.

John ran up to his room and grabbed a bottle of lube. When he reached Sherlock’s bedroom, Sherlock was sitting on his bed, texting.

John froze. “You’re not telling Mycroft, are you?”

Sherlock looked up. “Why would I tell Mycroft?”

John thought about it. “Right. Okay.” He set the lube down on Sherlock’s bedside table, then sad down beside him. Sherlock set his phone down beside the lube. He exhaled. He was very ... stiff. He seemed nervous. Sherlock turned to John and they stared at each other.

“So ... if you ever want me to stop, just tell me, okay?”

“You too.” Was Sherlock’s reply.

“Right,” John said. He nodded for a few moments, keeping his gaze. Sherlock didn’t move. Of course, John should be the one taking control. He was the more experienced one. Sherlock had no idea what he was doing. “Okay. So.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I guess ... we should start by ... you know.” He gestured at Sherlock’s shirt.

Sherlock tilted his head, confused. “What?”

John sighed. “Taking, uh ... taking our clothes off.”

“Oh. Right.” Sherlock started undoing his shirt without hesitation, stripping it off and tossing it to the ground. He lifted off his undershirt and dropped that beside it. He stood up, and was in the process of unbuttoning his pants when he stopped, looking at John with a raised eyebrow.

John paused. “What?”

“Don’t you have to be naked, too?”

Oh. Right. He should probably stop staring at Sherlock like a creep. He’d been distracted by how damn skinny Sherlock was. He could see the faint outline of his ribs. Then he’d noticed his flat stomach, the faint outline of abs, and how narrow he was, thin and small, tall, but so small-boned.

John stood up and stripped off his shirt, then his pants. They both stood in their underwear, looking at each other.

John sighed. Okay, he’d go first. He started stripping off his last article of clothing. Sherlock automatically looked away, uncomfortable. John scoffed.

“What?” Sherlock said.

“Nothing.” John stood completely naked in front of him. Sherlock’s shoulders had tensed, his arms crossing across his chest protectively. His gaze dropped to the ground.

“Alright?”

He nodded.

“You’re turn, then.” John nodded at his underwear. He was wearing black boxers, tight against his skin, the outline of his manliness visible in them. John was more aware of the slight curve of his narrow hips, and the raise of his ass that caught him by surprise, given how skinny he was. Apparently, what little Sherlock did eat went straight to his ass.

Sherlock exhaled, grabbing onto his underwear, but then stopped. He crossed his arms again. Jesus, was he blushing?

“What’s wrong?”

Sherlock glanced at John nervously. “I’m ... self-conscious.” He said blankly. He was mad at himself. Embarrassed. John had to force himself not to laugh. Sherlock, the man who would let complete strangers haul him into the street in nothing but a bed sheet, who could face life-threatening situations without as much as the blink of an eye, was afraid of John seeing his prick.

“Okay.” John said. He should probably try to comfort him instead of laughing at him. “Come under the blankets.” He said, laying on the bed and sliding under the covers. When Sherlock didn’t move, John waved him over. “I don’t bite, Sherlock.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock was definitely uncomfortable. What an odd feeling, being able to make Sherlock hesitate.

“Come here.” John said gently. Sherlock finally moved forward. John lifted the covers for him and he lay down stiffly beside him, eyes straight ahead, face hard as a rock. They lay in silence for a few minutes. The awkwardness built.

“So ... do you want to take off your underwear now?”

Sherlock’s eyes darted at John. He looked very uncomfortable.

“Do you want to stop?”

Sherlock paused. “No,” he said. He took a breath, then reached under the covers. His knees bent and John could hear the slide of fabric against skin. Then his boxers appeared from under the blankets and were tossed on the floor precariously. Sherlock pulled the covers up a bit higher, then looked at John expectantly. He looked ... proud of himself.

John found himself smiling. “Okay. So that’s that.”

Sherlock smiled back, then looked down, his hands clasped. John cleared his throat, looking straight ahead.

“What next?” Sherlock asked.

“Erm ... I guess we should ...” This was uncomfortable. “... start touching.” John finished awkwardly.

“Okay.”

Neither moved. Sherlock looked like he was trying to figure out what to do. Finally, he asked, “Touching how?”

John was having trouble looking Sherlock in the eyes.

“Should we ... kiss?”

John hadn’t even thought about that. “Well ... I suppose that’s usually how it starts. “He paused. “Is that ... do you want that?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I suppose.” He said unconvincingly.

“Do you like kissing?”

“... not really.” Sherlock admitted. “But I suppose I’ve never ... actually kissed someone.”

John knew exactly what that meant. He hadn’t kissed someone for real - not because he’d wanted to. For a case, probably, or because someone else had wanted to and he’d just stood there and let them. “We could try it.” And oh god, he was actually suggesting he kiss another man. Kiss his flatmate.

“Okay.” Sherlock shrugged. He didn’t move.

John nodded. “Okay. Er ...” He hesitated. “Okay.” He forced himself to sit up and slide closer to Sherlock, who turned his head to him, his expression blank but his eyes calculating. John licked his lips. Sherlock mimicked him, pink tongue darting out to wet his mouth, and good god, John had never noticed how gorgeous Sherlock’s lips were. He leaned closer, his face closer to Sherlock’s than it had ever been. He could see all the different specks of color in his eyes from this close, see his dark eyelashes, his black pupils dilated from the dim light of his bedroom, and yes, his light pink lips, glistening now with saliva, and just slightly parted. John wondered if Sherlock would close his eyes, but found himself no even caring as his own fell shut and he closed the distance between them. His lips gently touched Sherlock’s.

The first thing he noticed was that it kind of felt like kissing a statue. Sherlock completely froze, pulling back slightly and taking in a short, quick breath of air. He wondered if he should stop, pull away, maybe even get up and throw his clothes on and stop this madness before it even began. Jesus, he was about to shag his flatmate to prove he wasn’t gay - this was going too far. But then he noticed how soft Sherlock’s lips were, how full and wet. How malleable. John moved a little closer, kissing him harder. Sherlock relaxed a bit, letting out his breath. John moved down to Sherlock’s bottom lip, taking it into his mouth and sucking on it gently. He reached up to touch Sherlock’s neck, pulling his head closer to him. He could feel Sherlock’s breath against his cheek, and he could feel that he was starting to relax. He still wasn’t kissing back, but John just barely noticed.

He pulled back. “Still okay?” He asked, a little breathless. Sherlock nodded. John moved forward again, kissing him a little harder this time. He put his hand on Sherlock’s chin, stroking along his jaw in hopes that he’d open his mouth. Sherlock was catching on now, starting to mimic John’s movements. One of his hands moved up and rested in the hair on John’s chest. His breath hitched. It made his mouth open a bit, and John took the chance, licking into it gently.

Sherlock jerked back in surprise, his eyes opening. “It’s alright,” John said, tugging him forward. Sherlock let him, and John went back to his innocent kisses, his hands dropping down, one to rest around Sherlock’s neck and the other on his back. Sherlock eventually opened his mouth for him again, this time letting John lick into it. The warm, wetness of his mouth sent a shiver down John’s spine. He pushed Sherlock forward, guiding him down to lay on his back. John pressed his tongue inside his mouth as he hovered over top of him.

John pulled back. And okay - when did he get so hard?

“John?” Sherlock watched him curiously. A pink flush had started on his cheekbones, defining their sharpness even more than usual. God, he was gorgeous.

“What?”

“Alright?”

“Yeah! Fine. Everything’s fine.” John cleared his throat and took a breath. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay.”

“Good. Good.”

“Kissing isn’t exactly dangerous.” He hesitated. “Unless we’re talking about transferring viruses - ”

“We’re not talking about that.” John said firmly.

Sherlock closed his mouth. “Fine.” His hand rested on his belly. The blankets had moved while they were making out, and John could see low down his stomach, the V far down his abdomen that led into his dark pubic hair. His eyes skimmed up Sherlock’s body, lingering on his faint abs, his belly button, the light dusting of dark hairs on his chest, his pink nipples. His bullet wound from John’s ex-wife that caused a tiny stab of guilt in John’s stomach. Up his long neck - the long pale, neck that was usually covered by a scarf. A neck John sometimes found himself admiring, though he told himself it was just because Sherlock usually hid it and it was something of a treat to get to look at it. Now, it looked so beautifully naked, so open. He felt the urge to attack it with his tongue. Instead, he reached down to kiss Sherlock again, just letting himself experience it. He was kissing his flatmate. And it was ... okay.

He inched closer to Sherlock, lifting his leg and slipping it between Sherlock’s so he was half on top of him. He could feel Sherlock’s manliness against his leg, starting to get hard. He lowered himself onto his forearms, one on either side of Sherlock’s face. “This is okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” John kept kissing him. Sherlock was basically just laying there with his mouth open, letting John take him like this. He was a bit tense, unsure what to do. John stroked his forehead comfortingly, trying to let him know that this was fine. He could just lay there if he needed to. He didn’t have to do anything. Eventually Sherlock started kissing him back again, moving his lips subtly as John’s tongue sunk into his mouth, licking at every corner like he couldn’t get enough of it.

John was totally hard now. Sherlock wasn’t, but John could feel him getting more aroused. He pressed his knee against Sherlock’s crotch. Sherlock inhaled swiftly, his stomach fluttering and his mouth opening wider. John cautiously pressed his own erection against Sherlock’s leg, making sure he was comfortable with it. He didn’t tense, so John took it as an okay. He gently rutted up against him, pushing his leg into Sherlock’s crotch. Sherlock responded almost immediately. John could feel him getting bigger with every press against him. And that definitely shouldn’t turn John on, but it did - the idea that Sherlock was growing for him, was turned on by him. Wanted him.

He lifted himself up, letting the blankets fall down on his hips, and moved on top of Sherlock, nudging his legs apart so he could fit between them. Sherlock’s breathing was as fast as John’s, and it sped up when John started thrusting against him. When John pulled back, his eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed pink and his mouth lax. His body moved up and down with John’s movements. That was ridiculously hot.

John kissed him again, keeping his movements steady. They were both rock hard now, their pre-come mixing together, making it easier for John to slide against Sherlock. He pulled back again, and Sherlock’s eyes were opened, gazing up at John. He closed his mouth and looked down at John sliding against him, then back up at John. What was he thinking?

John stopped. Sitting up. “Okay.” He tried to catch his breath. Sherlock was completely naked in front of him, his prick long against his stomach. His crotch was shining with both of their pre-come, and flushed a bit red from the rubbing. John couldn’t help but wonder why Sherlock had been so nervous for John to see him naked. He was well-equipped. So was John. They were actually fairly close in size. Sherlock seemed a little bit bigger, but John figured he was a bit longer.

No, John. Don’t compare cock sizes. That’s stupid. Don’t do that.

Sherlock had his arms crossed loosely across his chest, getting uncomfortable again. Whenever they paused, he was pulled back into reality, the virgin that needed walls to protect himself.

“I should um ...” John made something of an obscene gesture. Sherlock looked confused, his arms just barely tightening across his chest. John sighed - Sherlock was going to make him say everything, wasn’t he? “... finger you.”

Sherlock didn’t move. He stared up at John with a blank expression. His eyes darted to the side and then back to John. After a moment, he stated bluntly, “No.”

John furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean, no? I have to ... prepare you. For ...”

“The Sex?”

“Yes. For the Sex.” What was it with Sherlock and putting “the” in front of things? The Woman. The Sex.

Sherlock’s face went hard. Discomfort equals anger. “Why can’t we just do it?”

John shook his head. “Why are you so against me fingering you? Jesus, Sherlock. Okay, here’s how it is. If I don’t finger you, I could literally tear you open. Is that what you want?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Do you have any idea how unlikely it is that you would actually ... do that? You’re a doctor. You should know these things. Just do it.”

John was surprised Sherlock didn’t jump onto all fours and present himself. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sherlock. It’ll make it ... less painful. When I ... you know.”

“What?”

“My God - when I stuff my prick up your arse, Sherlock.” John snapped.

Sherlock glared at him. He looked away, hurt in his eyes that only John would be able to notice. It was the same kind of hurt that appeared when Donovan called him a freak, or someone told him to piss off when he started deducing them.

John sighed. “I’m sorry.” He said. He hit himself mentally. He should be more careful. Sherlock was very vulnerable right now. He was supposed to be making this a good experience, something that would prove to Sherlock that sex could be enjoyable, not make him feel like an idiot. “It’ll hurt a lot less if I finger you first. Is that okay?”

Sherlock looked up at him suspiciously. He nodded slowly.

“Okay.” John reached across Sherlock for the lube on the bedside table, possibly a bit too eagerly. He lay down beside him. “Remember you can tell me to stop anytime. Right?”

“Yeah.”

John propped himself up to squeeze some lube on his fingers, then reached his hand between Sherlock’s legs, getting Sherlock to bend them and spread them open. He brushed against his balls, making Sherlock jump in surprise.

“Cold?”

“A bit.”

John rubbed it between his fingers to try and warm it up, then brought it to Sherlock’s perineum, rubbing him gently there. “Okay?”

Sherlock nodded. He was only half-hard now, but his breathing was speeding up again from having John touch him in such an intimate place. John slid his finger down lower, testing to make sure Sherlock was still comfortable. He slid it down until he reached his opening. And now he was completely guessing what to do. Sherlock’s breath caught. He shifted, nervous.

“It’s okay.” John said comfortingly, trying to be confident. He rubbed him up and down, stroking up his perineum and down over his arse, letting Sherlock get used to that feeling. When he relaxed a bit, he started rubbing circles around his hole. He pressed against it curiously to feel how tight he was. And Jesus, he was completely clamped shut. “Nervous?”

Sherlock’s eyes darted up to John as an answer.

“It’s okay.” John said again. He leaned down, keeping his finger rubbing circles around Sherlock’s opening, and kissed him. That seemed to help. He felt Sherlock start to relax more as they made out. When his breathing was heavy and his prick mostly hard, he pressed his finger against his hole, gently fighting the resistance until it sunk into the tight, wet heat of his body. Sherlock pulled back from kissing him with his eyebrows furrowed. He lifted one of his legs up to his chest and held it there as John started moving his finger in and out gently. “Still okay?”

“Yeah.”

John pushed his finger in more, thrusting gently. He leaned down to kiss Sherlock’s neck, sucking under his chin, licking a stripe up and kissing him behind his ear. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” Sherlock said after a breath.

“Does it feel good?”

Sherlock didn’t answer. John sat up and brushed the curls off his face, still thrusting his finger into him. Sherlock’s breathing was heavier. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, his eyebrows furrowed. He let go of his leg and grabbed onto his ass cheek instead, spreading it open as John pressed his finger all the way inside.

John pulled his hand back and pressed his middle finger beside his index finger. “Tell me if this is too much.” He said before pushing both of them into Sherlock, feeling the tightness wrap around his fingers in a ridiculously sexy way that went straight to his leaking, rock hard erection.

Sherlock winced, but he didn’t complain. He closed his eyes, letting John move two fingers in and out of him. John couldn’t help but lean down to kiss him. Sherlock kissed him back. When he pulled away, he was met with Sherlock’s blue eyes, watching him, something of a gentleness appearing that replaced the usual coldness John was used to seeing in them. He pushed his fingers all the way inside, crooking them and scissoring them in search of his prostate. Sherlock’s hand dropped to his abdomen, by his cock.

“You can touch yourself.” John said. Sherlock put a trembling hand on his prick, but then removed it, shaking his head.

“Hurts?”

“Too much.”

“Want me to stop?”

Sherlock shook his head. John thrust in a few more times, feeling Sherlock start to relax and loosen around his fingers. He was moving in easily now. He wondered if he should use three for awhile but he didn’t think it was necessary.

John pulled his fingers out. Sherlock looked up at him, his eyes shining. There was something like ... submissiveness in them. Something John didn’t think was in him. Something Irene Adler probably saw, hence why she took the Dominatrix approach. John could see the question in his eyes - _what are you going to do to me next?_ It turned him on more than he ever thought it could.

“Ready?”

Fear flashed through Sherlock’s eyes, but faded quickly. “For ... for the Sex?”

John smiled. “Yeah.”

Sherlock hesitated, then nodded.

“I’ll be really gentle, okay?” John said. He sat up and moved between Sherlock’s legs, hands falling to his hips. He lowered himself on top of him. Sherlock lay still, his arms raised up, hands resting on either side of his head. His breathing was so quick. He was so _tall._ “Here, just ...” He guided Sherlock’s legs around his hips, pulling him down the bed a bit so their bodies lined up. It was a bit of a pretzel position for Sherlock, but it was the only way John could get access to him from this position. John moved his hips, letting his prick slide between Sherlock’s cheeks. He could feel the warm lube there. John exhaled. “You’re so wet.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything. His hands dropped beside John’s as John rubbed him between his cheeks with his prick, stroking him. He watched Sherlock’s face, looking for signs that he was relaxing, that he was turned on and he wanted this. His lips were parted, his breathing heavier, his eyes wider open than usual. He looked ... hot. John sped up his rubbing to thrusting between his cheeks.

“Feel good?” He asked, breathless.

Sherlock nodded timidly.

John could feel the opening between Sherlock’s legs with his prick, making his stomach drop with anticipation. He was just rubbing his crown against that now, feeling it twitch against the touch. He moved down to kiss Sherlock. Sherlock turned into a statue again, just letting John kiss him instead of kissing him back.

“Sure you’re okay?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded swiftly. His eyes widened a little. John looked down. His prick was rock hard and leaking. When he looked up, his mouth had fallen open and his breathing was jagged.

“Can I go inside you now?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said. His hands dropped to John’s hips as John rested the crown of his cock against Sherlock’s arse.

“Tell me if it hurts too much.” He said, and started pressing inside. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed as the pressure increased. Then his hole gave way and John’s crown sunk inside. Both of them let out a groan. John felt a touch of guilt when he realized Sherlock’s was more of pain than pleasure. He stayed still with just the tip inside. “Just relax. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

_Tight - hot - wet - so - fucking - tight -_

“Just relax.” He pushed in a little further, watching Sherlock’s face. The discomfort was starting to fade from his face as his body adjusted around John’s prick. John was making the slightest thrusting movements, slow and shallow, his hands in fists resting against the mattress. He could feel Sherlock starting to loosen up and he sped up his thrusts a bit, just enough to get some satisfying friction. He closed his eyes, just feeling the tightness around him, the wetness.

“So ... this ... this is sex?”

John let out a breath. Sherlock felt so amazing, he could barely hear right. “What?”

“This is sex.” He opened his eyes. His flatmate was staring between their bodies at where they were connected, watching John slowly thrusting into him. His body rocked up with even that gentle movement. And right - John was taking his virginity. This was the first time anyone had ever been inside him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“It just ... you just ... I just lay here, and ... you go in and out of me and ... that’s it?”

John thought about it. “Well ... yeah, I guess.” Sherlock looked up at him. “Except it, you know, feels good. And there’s usually ...” He paused. “I don’t know, some kind of ... human connection going on.” He stared into Sherlock’s blue eyes. Sherlock had very blue eyes. He’d noticed before, but it had never registered. Beautiful blue eyes. And an amazingly tight, hot, wet -

“Okay.” Sherlock let out an exhale and looked ... relieved.

John slowed his thrusting. He looked down. He could feel Sherlock’s legs still trembling as they gripped high up around his hips. His hands were resting around John’s wrists. He felt a little tight, but open enough that John didn’t think it would be hurting him. Damn, though. His prick was only half-hard now. “Sure you’re okay?”

Sherlock nodded, and now John definitely saw fear flashing across his face.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded again.

“Does it feel good?”

Sherlock paused. He looked like he wanted to lie, but then decided against it. “Not really ...”

John smiled apologetically. “Okay. Let’s find your prostate.”

“My - ” Sherlock objected, but he let John lift his hips up higher, keeping his cock half-buried inside him. “Ow ...” He winced as John started thrusting.

“Okay, not there.” He shifted up, watching Sherlock’s face as he tried the new angle. “There?”

“Maybe ...”

John grabbed the backs of his thighs and pushed him up, raising his ass in the air. He moved in slowly. Sherlock’s breath hitched. “There?”

Sherlock let out an exhale. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay.” John leaned forward, resting his hands around Sherlock’s ribcage. He pushed up against that spot. Sherlock grunted. And Jesus, John never thought hearing Sherlock make sex noises would be so hot. He moved a bit faster. Sherlock’s breathing sped up, his eyebrows furrowing a bit into a desperate look. “Oh my God.” He said.

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” He clutched John’s wrists, looking down at John’s prick fucking him. “Oh. Oh. Oh.” His grunts were of surprised pleasure.

“Feels good, hey?”

“Yeah - ” Sherlock closed his eyes and his breath hitched again, his entire body tensed as John pushed inside him, moving in a bit deeper as Sherlock opened up. “Mmm ...”

John slipped his hands down Sherlock’s body to grip his hips, pushing Sherlock’s legs up higher around his arms. Sherlock’s body was so malleable, letting John move him into whatever position he wanted. Jesus, Sherlock Holmes was at John Watson’s mercy, letting him take him however he wanted.

John fucked into Sherlock. Sherlock had his mouth clamped shut, clearly trying to hold in his moans, but little grunts kept escaping him, and quick exhales of breath.

John was completely losing himself in his state of arousal. Everything he looked at was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen - Sherlock’s face, his shoulders moving up and down with the force of John’s movements, the sweat building on his body. His eyes continuously fell down to where they were joined, watching Sherlock’s body stretching open to take John in. He was almost all the way inside him now. None of the girls he’d been with could take his whole prick. It was too long. He wondered if Sherlock would be able to, pushing in harder.

Vision wasn’t the only thing turning him on. The wet, dirty noise of their sex went right to his crotch, the slapping of skin, and the little noises Sherlock kept making.

“I keep - uh - m-making - embarrassing - noises.” Sherlock managed to get out while his body was being thrust up and down. “I can’t h-help it. Uh!”

“It’s okay.” John said. “Because it feels good?” He asked, angling as close to Sherlock’s prostate as he could.

Sherlock let out a louder moan, throwing his head back. That clarified it.

John’s breathing was fast, the sweat building up on his body. The feeling of Sherlock’s long legs trembling around his shoulders, the feeling of his insides around his prick, so warm and wet and texturized and good _god_ he realized, possibly better than a vagina, all of it flooded his mind, drowning the little voice in his head that told him he shouldn’t be enjoying this, that this was his sociopathic flatmate he was shagging, that this flatmate was _male._

John pushed the thoughts out of his mind and focused on fucking Sherlock instead. He snapped his hips forward, feeling his tight body enveloping around his prick, sending jolts of pleasure to the edges of his fingertips. “ _Fuck_ Sherlock.” He pushed in harder, trying to get in as deep as possible from this angle. He pulled back, grabbing the pillow from beside Sherlock’s head. Sherlock’s hands dropped to the backs of his thighs, looking dazed, confused as to why John was stopping. “Here,” John said, guiding his hips up to slip the pillow underneath him. Sherlock lay down on top of it, his ass up high in there, his legs hiked over John’s shoulders. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock said breathlessly.

John pulled back so just the crown of his prick was inside and slowed his thrusts, rolling his hips, sweat building up on his chest and making Sherlock’s long legs slip against his shoulders. Sherlock’s legs were absolutely shaking now. John let go of his hips and grabbed the backs of his thighs instead, slowly pushing them against Sherlock’s chest. It made Sherlock’s ass lift up even more and his cheeks spread, giving John better access. “Okay?”

Sherlock nodded, breathing heavily, eyes locked on John’s. John sunk in a little further, picking up his thrusting to a slow, shallow rhythm. Sherlock’s breath caught with the change.

“Like that?”

Sherlock nodded, eyebrows furrowing and his lips pressing together in a distraught look. He shifted his hips a little, clenching around John. John pressed in as far as he’d gone so far, thrusting a little bit there, listening to Sherlock’s breath hitching. His eyes opened up. They stared at each other.

John pushed in a little further. Sherlock looked a bit nervous. “Still okay?” He nodded, so John pushed in a little more. He was so close to balls-deep it was killing him, his body aching to just grab Sherlock and spin him around and fuck into him as deep and as hard as Sherlock’s body would let him. But he forced himself to go slow, thrusting gently a little bit further inside, a little further, and then he felt Sherlock’s ass against his balls, and holy fuck, he’d never been this deep inside anyone before and it felt _amazing._

John let out a breath. Dead kittens. Dead kittens. Dead kittens. He started thrusting, his balls hitting up against Sherlock’s skin, watching Sherlock’s face for any signs of discomfort, listening to the quiet grunts he made with every movement. “Mm - mm- mm!”

And now he couldn’t stop himself from pulling out, gripping Sherlock around his hips and spinning him onto his stomach. Sherlock looked up at John as if he were waiting for directions, letting John lift him up onto all fours and spread his legs wide so he could fit between them. John gripped Sherlock’s hip with one hand and his own prick with the other, lined up and pushed inside, thrusting all the way in and almost all the way out.

John ran his hands up Sherlock’s sides, feeling the sweat accumulating on his skin, then dropped them back to his hips, gripping him tightly so he could thrust into his ass. Sherlock let out a stream of grunts, willingly taking in every inch of John’s cock with widespread legs. His moans were turning high and desperate. John slipped his hand under Sherlock’s prick and pressed it against his stomach. He could literally _feel_ his dick sliding in and out of him, feel a jolt in his abdomen every time he fucked in.

He grabbed onto his hips, thumbs reaching to spread his cheeks, and pounded into him hard. Sherlock grunted in surprise, but he didn’t seem to be in pain. “Fuck, you take it so good, Sherlock. So good.”

“John ...” Sherlock whined. He lifted himself up, reaching back to grab John’s hips as they thrust against him. John slowed down, letting Sherlock guide him into the right place. He gripped Sherlock possessively around the neck.

“You like my prick inside you, baby?” He barely registered his own use of the pet name.

“Yeah ...” John gave him a few hard thrusts. “Uh! John ...” He slowed back down again, pushing gently on Sherlock to lower him back onto the bed. He pushed into him a few times like that, his body flat on top of Sherlock’s.

“John - ” Sherlock reached back, pushing on John’s hips.

John blinked to try and clear his mind of all the sex fog - Sherlock was pushing him out of his arse. He panicked a little, pulling out. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock said, trying not to tangle his legs in John’s as he turned onto his back. He hooked his legs around John’s hips and pulled him close again, grabbing onto his prick and stuffing it back inside his own arse, making John groan, not just with the tight heat of his body, but with the brief touch of Sherlock’s hand on his erection. John thrust in slow, lowering himself on top of Sherlock, carefully, making sure Sherlock’s legs could bend that far back. He pushed them up so they were hooked over his shoulders instead and bent him in half. He kissed his neck gently, hand reaching up to rest on his forehead. He felt Sherlock rest his cheek against him and his arms grip around his back. They rocked together like that, both letting out groans of pleasure.

It felt right, John realized. This didn’t feel like the “gay sex” he’d thought about before - it just felt like sex. Sherlock’s gender didn’t even matter right now as he thrust deep inside him. They were clinging to each other, he realized. God. Was this what everyone else had seen? Was this why everyone thought they were a couple, because the fact that they would fit together so perfectly was just obvious to everyone but John? Is that why Sherlock never denied it?

John sped up. He could feel the heat building in his stomach. He lifted himself up, resting on his fists again and thrusting hard into Sherlock. Sherlock reached down to grab his ass and spread it apart, letting John fuck him hard and deep, as hard and as deep as he wanted. He took everything, grunting and moaning, a desperate look on his face. His eyes were filling with tears, his mouth opened and his breath ragged. His eyes kept moving between John’s eyes that were staring at his face and John’s dick that was fucking into his ass. He inhaled, and it was a sob.

John froze as he realized what was happening. “Woah ...” He said gently. He started to pull out. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

“No, don’t!” Sherlock said, almost panicked, grabbing John and pulling him closer, making his dick slide deep inside. Both of them groaned.

“Why are you crying?”

Sherlock sobbed, rocking his hips up and down on John’s prick.

“Sherlock,” John held his hips still so he couldn’t move.

“It just feels so good ...” Sherlock said quietly, tears spilling out of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. His eyes were fixed on John’s cock. His legs squeezed around him. “Please, John?”

“You want me to keep going?”

“Please ...”

“Are you sure? You’re okay?”

“Yes! Please, John, keep ...”

_... fucking me._

John kept moving, and Jesus Christ, he was making Sherlock _cry with pleasure._ He fucked in hard. Sherlock was clamping down around him, making himself ridiculously tight. His entire body was tensed, his hands clutching John’s forearms, legs hiked high up against his chest. His face was flushed, the pink extending all the way down to his chest. Sweat was dripping down his neck, his curls sticking to his face. His entire body was shaking. Tears were streaming down his face, his breath jagged with his sobs and hitching with every thrust. Sherlock reached back to grab the head post, and holy _fuck_ John knew he was going to be sore tomorrow, but he didn’t care. He pushed Sherlock’s legs against his chest so he could watch himself going inside, watch Sherlock’s ass taking in his entire length. Sherlock’s prick was rock hard between them, dripping almost a steady stream of pre-come onto his stomach. It was pooling in his belly button and dripping down his sides onto his bedsheets. Curious and ridiculously lost in lust, John reached down to touch his erection.

“No, don’t.” Sherlock batted John’s hand away. John moved it back. “No, I’ll come.” He grabbed John’s wrist and put it back on his hip. John took that as a cue to start fucking him faster.

Sherlock let out a loud moan. When he spoke, his voice hitched with every thrust of John’s prick deep inside him. “I might - ah!- come an - ny - way - ugh!”

Jesus - the thought of Sherlock coming just from John’s prick sent John nearly over the edge.

“You can take so fucking much, Sherlock ...” John babbled as he slammed into him.

Sherlock didn’t answer. Instead, he let out a high, breathy moan, and then he was coming. John kept pounding into him. A stream of white shot from Sherlock’s prick high up onto his chest, some of it hitting his chin and splashing onto his neck as his head fell forward, face tensed. “J - ... John ...” He moaned.

John came inside him right then. It took him without warning, the pleasure suddenly shooting through him, radiating all over his prick and deep inside his belly right to the edges of his fingertips.

He lay on top of Sherlock, both of them dripping in sweat, their muscles turned to jell-o and their breath heavy and ragged. John inhaled the smell of sex between them, feeling his body come down from the high. He finally managed to lift up his heavy body. He pulled out of Sherlock as gently as he could, rubbing his thigh comfortingly when he winced in pain. As soon as he was out, his come dribbled out of Sherlock’s opening, dripping in a long line down his crack and onto the bed sheets.

Sherlock’s own come was dripping down his chin and his neck. John was suddenly struck with the image of that being his own come, and good _god_ if he didn’t want a blow job now ...

 _No, John, you just had sex, remember?_ He forced a cap on his sex drive.

“That hit your _chin._ ” He said instead.

“It usually does.” Sherlock said bluntly, then added with the hint of a smile, “I hit the wall once.” He gestured behind him. John laughed disbelievingly and shook his head.

“Probably because you never get off. You fucking _explode._ ”

“Basically.” Sherlock answered, wiping the come from his chin. He reached over to grab a tissue from his nightstand and cleaned off his chest while John collapsed beside him. Both of them tried to catch their breath.

“So, that was sex.” Sherlock said. He’d pulled the covers over himself and was examining his hands, clutching the crumpled tissue in one.

John took a breath. “Yeah. Yeah it was.” He looked over at his flatmate. His cheeks were red, his curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. He looked ... hot. Still.

Sherlock swallowed.

“Are you okay?” John asked for the millionth time.

Sherlock nodded. “Yeah.” He put the tissue in his hand on the bedside table. “Are you?”

“What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” _Great, actually._ He couldn’t stop looking over at Sherlock. He wasn’t a virgin anymore. He wasn’t a virgin because he’d just let John fuck him. “So ... what did you think?”

Sherlock looked over at him, eyes still a bit red from crying. “What?”

“Did you ... did you change your mind about sex?”

He blinked. “John. It made me cry.”

John smirked. “Yes, I did.”

Sherlock ignored him. “What about you? Still straight?”

John blinked. “I guess this makes me bisexual, doesn’t it?”

Sherlock smirked. “Yes, it does.”

“I believe we proved each other wrong.”

“Yes we did.”

They lay in silence, finally having caught their breath. Neither of them said anything for a long time, just thinking to themselves.

Finally, Sherlock turned to John. “So ...”

“Yeah?”

“Want to do it again?”

“Oh, God yes.” John said, rolling over onto Sherlock and shoving his tongue down his throat.


End file.
